The New Age
by Mandelene
Summary: They are the Investigation Bureau of Personified Nations; more commonly known as the IBPN. Their experiments are funded by associations all over the globe because they claim to hold the key to a new era of greatness with their advancements in technology, but at what cost? The test subjects themselves are about to find out as they delve into the world of this secret new science.
1. Chapter 1

_It'd all started with an innocent flower. _

"England! England! Look at what I found, England!"

The weary, elder nation smiled, kneeling down on the dewy hillside to have a better look at the spectacle that the little boy was presenting to him.

"Yes, America, that's quite a beautiful daisy. Where did you manage to find it?"

The boy's dazzling smile beamed like a thousand suns, azure eyes sparkling fondly at his mentor. "Down by the river. There were tons of them! Probably gazillions!"

"Gazillions, you say? My, my, what a sight that must've been," England remarked warmly before hitching America up and into his arms. "How about we find a vase for it? And then, young sir, it'll be time for your bath."

America wrinkled his nose as he was carried back to the house. "But I just had a bath!"

"Yes, but you were the one who insisted to muck around in the mud this morning, remember?"

The child groaned. "Okay, but can you tell me a story while I'm taking it?"

The elder nodded, brushing back America's stray locks of hair. "You can have as many stories as you'd like."

"Even a gazillion?"

England chuckled, kissing the top of America's head tenderly. "Yes, my little one, even a GAZILLION."

Who was to say that a smile couldn't change the world?

* * *

A long string of applause filled the auditorium, reverberating against the walls as the anticipated speaker rose to his feet and approached the podium.

"Welcome and behold, the foundation of the first bureau to investigate the complexity of the anatomy and physiology of the human personifications of nations begins here! This could very well be the turning point of the new century. Who's to say that if a nation's people affect a personification, the reverse reaction doesn't hold true? Through a program of harmless and well-organized testing, we will be able to go where no scientist has dared to go before. We shall see how these personifications are born and if they could hold the key to shaping a better and brighter future. I thank you all for taking part in the works of this organization—especially, those who are personifications themselves."

The short man with stubby limbs adjusted his glasses with persuasive eyes before continuing the speech.

"This project could not have been funded and brought into the light of day had it not been for your contributions. You all understand the importance which your existence holds to the rest of human civilization, which is quite noble indeed."

One of the nations at the table folded his hands nervously.

"Now, a number of our patients have already been safely admitted and are under our constant supervision to ensure that they are well tended to. The first group of patients will be hospitalized for no more than two weeks, during which they will grasp a better understanding of their own powers. Afterward, other personifications shall be brought in based on their individual needs. Our future plans can be further researched on our website, which you are all free to visit at any time. That is all for today, and I thank you all once more for your attendance to this spectacular event."

The chairman of the committee finally stepped down from the podium, bowing his head graciously and shaking the hands of numerous important government officials from all around the world as he made his retreat.

The party had just commenced.

* * *

"Hey, England. How's it going? I'm good… I mean well… Uh, so it's Father's Day and everything so I thought I'd—"

America stopped himself from pacing back and forth in front of the mirror, slapping an annoyed hand to his face. "That sounded stupid. Lemme try again."

He cleared his throat, fixed his hair, righted his tie and tried once more.

"Hey, England. I know we haven't talked much lately. It's been a while since we've seen each other, but since it's Father's Day and all, I thought we could catch up on some things. Um, I mean, I guess I kind of consider you like a father, even though you always told me to call you my older brother. You were the only parental figure I had and—Jeez, I'm rambling."

He loosened his tie and threw the bouquet of daisies and cheerful card for England on the bathroom counter, sighing to himself. He'd been debating whether or not to do something nice for England this Father's Day, hoping to improve their relationship. Truth be told, he was missing the old man, and no matter who he tried to use to fill in the missing gap of closest ally, no one could replace England. Not China, or Japan, or even Canada.

England was that thorn in his side that just wouldn't go away.

He took the daisies in hand and migrated to the kitchen to place them in their temporary vase, wondering whether or not he should have gone through all the effort in the first place.

But before the daisies ever even grazed the surface of the water, the front door was rammed open, followed by some men dressed in impressive military-esque uniforms.

* * *

The course of events that followed was still rather blurry and fragmented in America's mind.

"_We're not here to hurt you, you know. In fact, we plan to do quite the opposite. We can make you stronger than ever before." _

"_No! Damn it!" He twisted out of his captor's grasp, throwing himself on the floor with strength that far superseded that of a human's. The foundations of the house seemed to shake with the sheer force of the impact._

"_LET. ME. GO!" He was heaved upward once more before he countered by slamming himself down again, splintering the wooden floorboards this time._

_There was an impressed whistle near the other end of the room. "Such strength."_

_If he could just escape the house, he'd be able to find help. _

_But a tremendous amount of pressure on his back held him firmly in place._

"_WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"_

_He crashed into the coffee table upon flailing upward again, banging his head on the sharp edge of it before grabbing the nearest intruder by the leg and yanking him down to kiss the ground._

_Then, there was delighted chuckle of amusement from above followed by someone clicking their tongue._

"_There, there. We can't have you throwing fits like this every minute, can we? Hold still. This might pinch just a bit."_

_And that was when he became nothing more than a number._

_Or more like a science experiment that had gone terribly wrong._

_His last memory was of the abandoned daisies on the kitchen floor, yellow centers mourning his defeat._

* * *

There was something so reassuring about the chilling stillness of bitter silence when the whole world seemed to be underwater.

Just the stifling ringing of utter nothingness…

And for a moment, Alfred F. Jones was floating between sleep and wakefulness, picking out fiction from reality very carefully. If he brought himself into enough of a state of awareness, he could feel the presence of people surrounding him, their warmth and touch pulling him closer to the surface of consciousness. Yet, every time he nearly succeeded at chasing away the fog above him, he was ripped back down—forced to stay put in his hazy mind.

He had then grown restless—peaceful bliss turning into torturous enslavement as the deathlike quiet preyed upon him. He fought with himself to wake up and hear the world speak to him again, but his resistance proved futile until his eyes snapped open without his accord.

"Dyspnea is still persistent… The nasal cannula isn't enough."

"Set him up on an oral nasal mask."

He was bombarded with light as he blinked fervently to clear his vision. An involuntary groan escaped the bowels of his larynx before an instinctive hand came up to yank at the mask that was resting on his face like a muzzle. He flung it sideways but ended up hitting himself in the process as the mask snapped back at him in retaliation.

"BP is a hundred over seventy."

"Oxygen saturation has gone up to ninety-six."

"Pulse: eighty-two. Mild tachycardia from the medication."

"Patient is stable once more."

Patient? Had he been in some sort of accident? That would explain the pulsating headache and overall fatigue. He groaned once more to make his presence known, finally focusing his eyes on a pair of doctors accompanied by a nurse in the room.

Before he could attempt to make more of an intelligible sound, one of the doctors shined a light into his eye, blinding him momentarily as his eyelids were firmly pulled back.

"Pupils are responsive to light. No signs of lasting head trauma."

"The patient is to be brought back to his room under heavy surveillance until we can evaluate his mental state. Give him two milligrams of Valium and we'll call it a day."

"Yes, sir."

A series of clicking noises followed by his bed being rolled out brought him to his senses as his surroundings violently tilted and contorted. Immediately, he swung his head to the side of the cot and vomited over the railing, wincing as he unknowingly pressed against the IV connected to his hand, jostling the inserted needle.

Nausea and a massive headache— he'd had this sickening feeling before, and it could only be the result of a concussion.

"I'll get the PCT to find someone to clean that up."

He moaned discontentedly, eyes feeling heavy as he noted how much more miserable he was feeling by each passing second. He brought his fingers to ruffle his hair, finding a square of gauze covering a painful bump on the back of his scalp.

"Ugh."

He whimpered uneasily, seeing as he'd always suffered from a bit of white coat syndrome, anxiety prickling at each of his nerves as the nurse continued to pull him through the maze of some strange hospital.

Hopefully, if he'd really been the victim of some terrible wreckage, he would have visitors that would explain the situation to him shortly. After all, he was the human personification of the United States of America, so it was natural for him to have some company when severely injured. In the back of his mind, he knew exactly who he wanted to see at times like these, but fought down the childish vulnerability that was blossoming in his chest. He chewed at his worry and spit it aside, assuring himself that he'd probably just gotten a little too rowdy with Canada during one of their hockey games again.

There was absolutely nothing to worry about. Right?

He let out a strangled whimper through his oxygen mask as the nurses settled him in his room and flushed the hep lock of his IV, giving him the prescribed Valium to calm his hyperactive senses.

America's gut feeling was shouting at him that something was terribly wrong, but he swallowed his fear and blamed it on the white coat syndrome again, leaning back into his pillows as his muscles relaxed and the drug was administered.

All was fine.

Why was he so paranoid, then?

And, holy crap, going back to sleep seemed like such a good idea.

His eyes fell to half-mast, blearily scanning the barren room as oxygen forced its way down his throat and up his nostrils. It wouldn't hurt to take a nap. After all, it would probably do him some good to catch up on some shuteye.

* * *

If he concentrated all of his energy on his thoughts, he could keep from plummeting into insanity. He had started by counting the number of bolts on the door of the cell, and then graduated on to tracing shapes over the thin coating of ice that had developed on the walls. It was similar to drawing figures on a car window during a wintry day.

The cold used to be a comfort to him because it signified a place that he could call home, but now, as he rubbed his numb hands together and shivered violently, he realized that he'd give anything for some warmth.

His scarf had been stripped away with the rest of his belongings, leaving him in nothing but a worn hospital gown and flannel pants.

To keep his spirits up and his hunger quenched, he began tracing out an old Russian proverb on the wall that went along the lines of "appetite comes with eating". If he could convince himself that he wasn't hungry, then it was no longer an issue. He urged himself that food would bring sickness along with it. No food, no appetite, no problem.

This is what they were testing him on anyway, the resiliency of a personified nation. Could a nation survive without basic, human needs? And if not, then how long would they last?

Russia sniffed roughly, limbs shaking as he leaned against the back of the icebox that he had been subjected to staying in. The sooner he could pass the test, the sooner he'd be let out of the testing area. After the scientists had their fill of fun and games, he'd be fine. He didn't think they'd allow him to die even if such a thing were possible because, quite frankly, he wasn't too sure what was going to happen to him after this prolonged exposure to extreme cold either. He was a valuable experiment that couldn't be lost. However, that didn't mean that they wouldn't do everything in their power to keep him just _barely_ coherent.

He'd tried breaking through the door and punching through the wall, but all of it had been futile on his part. Everything that was surrounding him seemed to be made of some kind of impenetrable material that not even his superhuman strength could dent.

He couldn't remember exactly how he'd ended up in this "hospital", but he wondered if help was on the way or if other nations had also been trapped within testing rooms. Time had also eluded him as of late. If he were to estimate how long ago he'd woken up, he'd say he'd been in his cell for days, but without any window or light in the hallway to make a proper judgment by, his "days" may have been hours. Everything seemed long and grueling when sitting in the same spot for without a clock.

He flipped his left hand palm-side –up, grimacing at the ugly bruising that was still healing on the vulnerable skin covering his wrist. The spot where he'd once been able to see his blue veins was masked by a tattoo that resembled a barcode. Symmetrical black lines ran down the width of his forearm, itching and aching in irritation.

But instead of having numbers under the lines, there was simply the word ISOLATION written out boldly at the bottom.

With nothing left to keep him busy, he went back to writing proverbs.

* * *

Prussia raised his blood-stained irises at the "doctor" looming over him, watching as he swabbed his arm and injected some type of medication into his arm, unable to do anything in retaliation. He had tried lashing out at the team of doctors that had been tending to him before, only to be sedated to the point where his entire body had gone into a state of paralysis. Now, the only muscles he could move were those on his face. He winced as the needle hit its target, biting his lip to keep from cursing profusely and making the situation a thousand times worse for himself. He warily watched the doctor step away from his cot and fumble through his lab coat, eyes trained on Prussia the entire time.

"You must be aware that your brother is here as well," the doctor finally commented, shining a penlight into Prussia's eyes.

"What have you done to him?" Prussia roared, unable to keep from shouting no matter how hard he tried to bite off his own tongue.

The doctor put on a strained smile, pulling back the nation's eyelid as he examined the dilation of his pupils. "Nothing that won't benefit the field of science."

Filled with overwhelming wrath, Prussia spit into the doctor's hovering face, watching as the man tensed up and reeled backward, bringing a sleeve up to his chin.

"Go to hell," Prussia hissed, begging his body to regain mobility again.

The doctor sneered. "I would, but it looks like you'll get there before me. The medication I just gave you will cause your heart to stop, making you clinically dead. We'll see how defiant you are then, bastard."

Prussia took a long gasp of air, suddenly feeling like his heart was going to explode.

There was an inexhaustible flash of pain that followed before he went still once more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **This series has been fermenting in the back of my mind for a while now, and I certainly plan on continuing it in due time. The first chapter was just a bit of a teaser/pilot. Unfortunately, this series won't be getting much of my love and attention until I finish up some of my other stories, but it's still something that I'm really looking forward to writing. Hopefully, I'll be able to finish up my old material in a timely manner.

Please review and offer some feedback, as it is greatly appreciated! :)

* * *

"America?"

Said nation's eyes fluttered open with a wince, a small cry of pain emanating from his throat upon finally coming to his senses. Baby blues stared up at the ceiling before he mustered the energy to roll his head to the side, realizing that he was still lying in a hospital bed. Panic promptly followed, swelling in his chest as his phobia of doctors resurfaced to the front of his mind.

"Thank goodness you're in one piece."

That voice.

America knitted his eyebrows together quizzically, reaching up a hand to prod at the gauze on his scalp again. He finally took a moment to swivel his head to the right, visibly relaxing upon seeing a familiar face peering at him with growing concern. He allowed himself a tiny smile of amusement, fingers still hovering over the dressing on his head. "England?"

"You ought to be more careful," said nation whispered, pulling America's hand back gently to keep him from irritating the injury. "From what I heard, you took a nasty blow to the head."

America narrowed his eyes in suspicion, unable to recall ever bashing his skull. If he thought about it, he did feel like he had a bit of a hangover. Maybe he'd gone a little overboard with his ol' drinking buddy again. "Where am I? And more importantly, what the hell happened?"

England sighed in a way that usually signified that he was in deep thought over something. He sat in a conveniently placed chair by America's bedside and took the younger nation's hand in his own under the blankets, surveying it with interest for a long moment before speaking again.

"You're in the hospital after collapsing at your house. You hit the back of your head on the coffee table, so I imagine that's muddled most of your memory. They're running some blood tests and the like to see what caused you to faint. With some rest, I'm sure you'll be fine. It might have just been stress related."

"Oh…"

Someone who didn't know England for their entire life and hadn't battled by his side in both World Wars, would've probably bought his brief and well-rehearsed explanation. They certainly wouldn't have noticed the gleam of urgency behind England's otherwise neutral face. And that was just the thing; if America had really passed out as England said he had, the man would've been climbing up the walls in anticipation and suppressed worry, harassing nurses and doctors to update him every second of every minute.

He would in no way, shape, or form, be perched stiffly by his bedside, trying his best to appear cool and collected.

However, before America could begin to question him on his recent lying streak, England had flashed him another critical look that silenced him. The elder nation turned over the American's hand that he had been holding palm-up, tracing strange shapes on it under the cover of the blankets.

It took America only a moment to realize that England wasn't just drawing shapes meant to soothe him out of his increasing sense of panic; he was slowly writing out various letters.

America kept the conversation going on casually to keep from raising suspicion, having had many years of practice in the area of putting up a decent façade. "Well, that's good. Hopefully they bring me up some food soon, cause I'm starving!"

He began registering the letters, taking extreme caution in making sure that he didn't miss a single movement of England's fingers against his hand lest he get lost while deciphering the message. He silently repeated each letter in his mind, forcing himself to remember them and not lose track of the message due to his sluggishness from the painkillers.

"W. E," he thought to himself, stringing the first word together.

"I'm afraid you'll be waiting quite a while. The doctor ordered you to stay NPO," England replied, keeping eye contact with America and playing along while he continued to get his secret message across.

"A. R. E."

America took in a quick breath, eyes bewildered. No food, _and_ he might be on the verge of a nervous breakdown any minute now? Food was a good source of consolation in these types of situations. "What's that mean? I'm dying here, man!"

The next word England was spelling out seemed much longer than the others, so America had to work that much harder to remember the sequence of the letters and not give into his drowsiness. He repeated them over and over again in his mind, stomach suddenly aching at the mention of food. "W. A. T…"

England rambled on, eyes perfectly neutral. "It means, 'nothing per oral'. You can't have any meals until the doctor clears you. The IV fluids will have to suffice for now."

The last letters were inscribed into his palm. "C. H. E. D."

America tried to keep his surprise contained and out of sight. He put on his best pout, trying to make it seem like he was genuinely only upset at the food predicament. "We are watched," what did that mean? How? They were completely alone. In fact, the lack of noise and movement in the hospital finally seemed to make themselves blatantly apparent.

He contributed to the conversation once more, hoping to eventually get the answers that he wanted. "Aw, this bites! No pun intended there."

England managed a strained half-smirk as America looked the elder nation squarely in the eyes and tried to scan the room using just his peripheral vision to keep from making too much obvious movement. Then, everything seemed to click as he caught the flicker of a little red light attached to a surveillance camera in the corner of the room.

How had he not noticed that sooner?

He was pretty sure having cameras in a patient's room was illegal.

Perhaps he was losing his touch, but it was still at times like these that he was grateful for all of his military experience. He began formulating some careful questions in his mind, knowing that England would exploit the hidden meaning behind them in the blink of an eye.

"Do you think I can take a walk to the bathroom on this floor? I really havta pee."

England looked convincingly disgusted, a bushy eyebrow raised in thought. "No, it's best if you don't get out of bed and just rest for a while. Use the bedpan if you must. After all, you took a spill just _this morning."_

Alright, so England didn't want him leaving the room, but since when did America do what the other man wanted anyway? He wasn't about to start now. Still, the quiet but firm emphasis on the ending of the statement made America's stomach churn uncomfortably. Clearly, he hadn't just been admitted into the hospital that same day, which raised an inevitable question; how long had he been here?

He swallowed heavily, rubbing the scruff on his chin, which signaled that he hadn't shaved in a while. He was dressed in the customary hospital gown, but instead of a plastic bracelet around his wrist to join it, he found with growing horror that he had some sort of inky barcode etched into the soft skin of his wrist. Since when had he consented to getting a tattoo that had "RESTRAINT" written on the bottom?

He felt his blood boil. Who the hell did these people in this hospital think he was? He wasn't going to play any mind games. He was getting out of here as soon as possible, and he didn't give a damn whether or not England wanted him to stay put.

"Alfred," England said sternly, forcing the other nation to meet his eyes and relax. "Please, just rest for now. It's all going to be alright. I won't allow you to go strutting about the hospital, causing harm to yourself and others. You can take a trip around the floor another time, but not now. I need you to trust me, can you do that?"

America puffed his cheeks out like he had always done as a child, sighing heavily as he huffed. "Fine."

He supposed that if there was anyone in the world that he would ever trust with his life and wellbeing, then it was his twin brother Canada, and this stodgy old mentor of his that was currently bossing him around.

England mustered a somewhat reassuring smile of satisfaction, placing a warm hand on top of America's head, mindful of his injury as he did so. "Very well," he murmured, running his fingers through the wheat-colored hair affectionately. He was so relieved to see that the only harm that the American had encountered so far was a simple head wound, and he was planning to keep it that way.

America wearily laid his head on his pillow once more, back hurting from the uncomfortable cot that he'd been bedridden in. "Hey, Arthur?"

"Yes, lad?"

"Can you pass the bedpan? I still really gotta take a piss."

England yanked his hand back, grimacing at the young nation albeit with a tad of fondness that he could not suppress. America was always one for playful innuendo. "Revolting wanker."

* * *

"_Remarkable."_

Prussia woke to a searing pain fleeting throughout his entire body, leaving him writhing on the gurney in agony. His skin felt as though it were stinging and on fire while his heart stuttered with skipped beats. Dry eyes forced themselves open to face the figures that were towering over his bed menacingly, confused and exhausted from whatever that sadistic doctor had done to him previously.

"_He's alive. How is that possible?"_

"_Technically, he was never really living to begin with. It all depends on what your definition of life is. After all, he's no longer a nation of his own. In theory, he should have ceased to exist centuries ago. I guess if there's one thing we know for sure, it's that he can't be killed by a short-term trigger. The medication was supposed to make his heart stop, and it succeeded, but after the medication wore off, he managed to regain consciousness somehow. His body is regenerating now—blood is circulating again, lungs are filling up with oxygen—it's like nothing ever happened."_

Warmth spread through his core, blood rushing and sloshing as his brain craved the sweet taste of oxygenated cells again. He slowly regained memory of his events at the hospital and tried his best to sit up, surprising the staff of doctors with his sudden burst of strength. Thankfully, they hadn't gotten the chance to inject him with another muscle relaxant yet, meaning that he had regained full mobility of his limbs.

"_What does this mean? Is he immortal?"_

"_No, at least, I don't think so. He just can't be killed through the conventional ways that humans can." _

Prussia winced as he straightened his back. He'd show them how damn human he was. With a snarling breath, he struck out his arm, catching a doctor in the ribs and knocking him back. This elicited a violent flurry of movement among the other doctors, causing the nation's head to spin with renewed vertigo as he dodged the pair of hands that made an attempt at restraining him.

Ripping out the IV in his arm with a low growl of pain, Prussia grabbed hold of the two remaining doctors—one in each hand—and shook them by the fronts of their shirts roughly. He drew them close with an animalistic look in his eyes that thoroughly startled his prey as they feebly tried to break out of the nation's rock-solid grip.

"Where is my brother?"

The more skittish of the two began to squirm feverishly, refusing to give him a proper answer as he turned his unsightly face to the side to avoid Prussia's crimson eyes. "Don't kill me!" he squealed. "I didn't want to be a part of this in the first place, but I couldn't decline the high pay!"

Realizing that he wasn't going to get anywhere without pushing the subject matter more fervently, Prussia transitioned his grasp on their shirts to each of their necks, raising them a few inches off the ground as they choked for air in his hold.

He sneered at the pair, priding himself for taking back control of his own body. "Ready to talk?" he inquired in a sickly-sweet lilt, irises flickering over their lab coats before taking note of their physical features should he get the chance to report them to the police.

The man opposite the cowardly one nodded, his misshapen nose wrinkling up in a wince as he blanched. His hands wrapped around Prussia's, cautiously trying to pry the fingers off of his throat as the shade of his lips began to transform into a bluish tint right before the nation's eyes.

Seemingly satisfied, Prussia released the two, eyes still dark and foreboding as the pair dropped to the floor and coughed frantically, nearing choking on their own saliva as they lifted their wobbly heads to face him.

Mr. Crooked Nose finally had the sense to speak up. "W-We don't know much. We were hired for this a while back, but aren't given much of the details concerning other patients then the ones that we're assigned to. Chances are your brother is on another floor, depending on what tests they're conducting on him. The only one who has all of the details on each patient is the Chief Physician, but he isn't here every day and when he is around, he deals with some of the superpower nations, who are on the sixth floor and are kept under extremely heavy surveillance."

Prussia sighed and stood up from the bed, happy to see that he was quite steady on his feet despite his untimely death and resurrection. The first doctor that he had attacked was still slumped against the wall, unconscious for the time being as the other two brushed themselves off and shakily stood as well. "Is he the one who is conducting all of the tests in the hospital?"

Crooked Nose nodded carefully. "You could say that, but there is a whole committee on the outside that is running the rest of the show. They go around convincing people that the experiments are for the good of mankind. Even a few of your fellow personifications are in on it, which is giving the board a whole lot of credibility on the world stage. A large number of nations haven't been brought in for testing yet; you're one of the first groups."

Prussia scowled, hefting up the body of the unconscious doctor and tossing him on the hospital cot to make the scene look less suspicious, though it didn't do much to hide the obvious chaos. "Why have the other nations joined the committee?" he interrogated as he scanned the room for a useful weapon, but came up short.

"I don't know. Rumor has it that they want to spy on and disband the committee from the inside while others say that it's because they are afraid of getting forced into submission. Nations on the committee have special privileges like not having to participate in some of the more…brutal testing sessions. The most they do is donate blood and get the standard barcode," the doctor explained, tone still quivering ever so slightly. "I used to work with the superpowers, but I asked to be transferred because I couldn't handle it. I considered reporting the hospital, but they have a whole team of people who will kill any traitors. Most of the staff is committed and loyal to the cause like our colleague here."

At this, the doctor paused and pointed to the man on the bed. "He's a new guy, and still drunk with his power. He's the one who tried to kill you. Of course, we all knew that it would be harder to get rid of a nation then by just stopping your heart."

Prussia sighed and walked over to the door, peeking through the little window to have a better look at his surroundings. "What other staff is on this floor?"

This time, the skittish man intervened. "J-Just nurses. We're the only three doctors on shift right now. The next round comes in—" he stopped to glance at his watch, "four hours."

"And what nations are here?"

Crooked Nose took a moment to think before responding. "The personification of Canada is down the hall, but he'll soon get transferred to the superpower ward because of the experiments being done on finding the significance of twin-nations. Since Alfred Jones is obviously with the superpowers, Matthew Williams has to be brought up to him. The Vargas twins are around the corner in opposite rooms, and the twin-nation testing on them has already begun. Lastly, Elizabeta is across from Matthew. The patients are all called by their human names, so it gets a little confusing sometimes to match the human name with its nation."

Damn it all. They had Hungary? Well, Prussia now felt obligated to go and find her before he could travel to the other floors for West. "Alright, what are these stupid barcodes for?" he continued his questioning, turning up his wrist to reveal the tattoo along with the word written beneath it. MORTALITY is what his boldly said.

Crooked Nose paused to stare at the mark for a little while, as though mesmerized by it. "Those things are for tracking as well as for logging your information into the database. By scanning your wrist, we can bring up your entire file with your medical records. They wash off if you scrub them with rubbing alcohol long enough, but it doesn't come off easily. It should fade over a few weeks. The word under the tattoo says what you are being tested for. Yours says mortality because the board wants to know if it's possible for a nation to die permanently."

Prussia nodded in comprehension before perusing the pair of doctors critically once more. They had been rather helpful and compliant. They also hadn't caused him any harm thus far, but he still didn't think he could trust the sleazy men.

Weighing his options for a long while, he finally gave his verdict. "I can't let you guys go because I can't trust you not to report me to the other staff. If you vow your allegiance to me, I'll let you guys live. You have to do everything in your power to keep the other nations on this floor safe from the harm of the other doctors. If you do that, I'll make sure nobody comes after you guys when you quit working here and report them to the police. So, what do you say? Your loyalty for my protection?"

Both doctors turned to face each other and contemplated their choices for a moment. They didn't want to risk death by turning against Prussia, and the man was fighting for a good cause. Reluctantly, but still terrified of the nation, the two agreed to help.

Prussia smirked, content in the knowledge that he now had insiders supplying him with information and keeping the others out of fatal danger. "Good. From now on, your codenames are Crooked Nose and Squirmy. Now, I need you two to help me get into Hungary's room. Then, we're going to the sixth floor to give the superpowers a visit. Do either of you know if Ludwig is there?"

Crooked Nose looked more than a bit offended at his codename, but decided to cooperate anyway. "When I worked in the ward, I only got to tend to some of the patients. I saw the personifications of America, Russia, and Japan, but if your brother is here, then he's definitely going to be on the same floor as them."

Squirmy then took his turn to contribute to the conversation. "We can sneak you past the nurses in a gurney. I'll go get an extra one and bring it in, but you're going to have to stay still and feign sleep while we transport you."

Prussia curtly nodded as the doctor disappeared into the hallway, a sense of anticipation growing in his chest as the prospect of seeing his fellow nations began to chill him to the bone. What was he going to see? Had they undergone more extensive damage than he had?

He shook the thought out of his head. His brother and the other nations needed him.

And he was too awesome to back down from a little challenge.

* * *

He'd be damned if he was going to stay in this sterile room for another minute. Sure, England had ordered him to stay put and he had agreed, but if something serious was going on, then he was going to get to the bottom of it. He was, after all, the hero, and it was only his duty to make sure all was well in situations such as these. Besides, whoever these people were, he was sure that he could take them on.

Just as the thought of him coming out victorious in an over-the-top fight scene crossed his mind, America suddenly felt his brain remind him of something very important.

Squinting his eyes, America reached for the dressing on his scalp again, pressing his fingers on it and hissing in pain as the wound still stung, and the bruising around it smarted.

He couldn't quite place why his hand kept absent-mindedly traveling towards that cut, but something about it made his stomach clench in fear. How had he injured himself again? He couldn't remember ever hitting his head nor could he recall his trip to the hospital. Surely, someone had to have known what had happened, but England had been extremely stoical with the details, which only raised more questions.

Still a bit woozy from the pain medication, America sat up and tried not to look directly into the surveillance camera. If he could somehow turn off the pesky thing without attracting attention, then he would be able to explore the area. Perhaps, he could blow out the power outlet that it was connected to.

Thinking about it carefully, he realized that even if he did manage to leave the room, there would probably be more cameras outside.

Huffing in annoyance, he began to wonder how England managed to keep walking to and fro whenever he pleased without attracting attention. Seeing no other alternative, he convinced himself to patiently wait in the room for a little longer, hating the fact that he had to be dependent on England this time instead of their roles being the other way around.

Biting his lip in worry, America slunk further down into the uncomfortable bed, completely oblivious to the severity of the situation.

Precisely at that moment, a doctor followed by a mouse-like nurse entered the room, crossing the length to his bedside and regarding him coolly. "Good afternoon, Mr. Jones," the doctor greeted mildly before taking a look at the machine which regulated the flow of medication going from the IV bag and into America's veins.

America furrowed his eyebrows, his phobia of doctors setting him on edge immediately. Who the hell were these people, and why weren't they introducing themselves before invading his personal space? "H-Hey?"

The doctor snapped on a pair of gloves and grasped America's head harshly, pulling it closer to have a look at the bandaged wound resting there. He pulled at the medical tape keeping the gauze together, inspecting the cut underneath it carefully with an air of professionalism.

"Tell me if this hurts," he muttered in a monotone intonation before his probing fingers landed on a particularly tender bruise.

America swore loudly, ripping his head away from the doctor before he could do more damage. "Yes, it freaking hurts! What did you think I was going to say?"

The doctor's gaze grew even colder, surprising America as he backed away from the man. He was already peeved that he had to be assigned to the most difficult and defiant patient on the floor, but it was his job to keep the young nation healthy so that he could undergo experimentation. Until the mild concussion subsided, and the head wound healed properly, they could not run any tests on America in case his condition interfered with the testing.

The doctor drew out a long sigh. There was a reason they had ordered England to be by America's bedside when the nation awoke. If he hadn't seen a familiar face early on, then he would have to be in a sedated state at all times since the nation had a record of lashing out.

Turning to the nurse, he took a little butterfly needle from her, ripping open the packaging surrounding the sterile instrument. He then firmly grabbed America's arm and stretched it out, swabbing the crook of it with an alcohol swab.

America's face paled immediately, eyes widening at the sight of the needle. "W-What are you doing?"

"We need to draw some blood," the nurse responded apathetically.

"Like hell you will!" America snarled, snagging his arm back to his side by shaking it free easily. The doctor stood no chance against his super-strength.

"Calm down or we'll have to—"

America tumbled out of bed, holding his arm protectively against his chest as he sprinted toward the door. He struck out his other hand to twist the doorknob, but was forced to take a step back when the door suddenly creaked opened and England's head popped in.

Impeccable timing…

The Englishman gave America a pointed look, scowling at the doctor as he produced a syringe filled with a sedative behind the American's back. "What's going on here?"

The doctor lowered the syringe, cowering slightly at the deadly look that England was shooting at him. "We were just trying to do a simple blood test," he assured, very annoyed.

Had the situation not been so serious, England would've laughed. This was so like America. Out of all the things that he should've been afraid of, such as being locked in an icebox like Russia had been subjected to, he had recoiled at the mere sight of a needle.

"Alright, love. It's going to be just fine. Why don't you lie back down and relax? You're going to need your rest. There's nothing to be afraid of," England murmured gingerly, guiding America back to the cot. He gave him a wistful smile and added, "I need you to be brave."

America would've stopped dead in his tracks had England not been pulling him along insistently. Alarm bells went off in his head, and now he was certain that this wasn't some ordinary hospital. England hadn't encouraged his heroics in a teasing manner, but was rather serious. Usually, this meant that some danger was brewing, and that England wanted him to be alert and fight back with all of his might.

The older nation smoothed out the bed sheets as America sat back down. The needle was plunged into his arm, eliciting a flinch as his nerves tingled.

And maybe that was the burst of adrenaline that he needed to snap out of the haze in his mind, but suddenly he remembered.

The daisies, the uniformed men, the crash against the table…

"Hey, Arthur?" he whispered carefully as he watched his blood being collected in a test tube.

England's eyes fluttered down to catch his gaze, still filled with practiced cool. "Yes, lad?"

"When was Father's Day?"

England pursed his lips, unsure whether or not he was allowed to answer the question, but ultimately decided to take his chances. "About a week ago. Why do you ask?"

Wow, he must've bashed his skull much harder than he'd initially thought to still be feeling the effects from that raiding incident. A week made sense though, since he'd grown a five-o'clock-shadow.

"I was gonna send you a present."

"You don't say?"

America nodded, offering the nation a bashful smile. "Yeah, Happy Belated Father's Day, Artie."

Had England known that he wouldn't see America smile in quite some time, he would've cherished the moment instead of brushing it off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delayed updates to this story; school has been hectic. x) Please enjoy and give feedback!**

* * *

"Ready to go?"

Prussia nodded at the doctor, slipping further underneath the blankets and turning on his side to emulate a more convincing sleeping position. The wooly fabric rubbed against his nose, giving him the urge to sneeze. He quickly rubbed away the sensation, cursing himself for almost blowing his cover in such an idiotic manner as the gurney began to move through the silent hallway.

A hushed sound of chatter between a few nurses could be heard as they passed, but he wasn't quite close enough to listen in on their conversations. Instead, all he could make out was the sound of the gurney's wheels squeaking against the tiled floors as they rounded the corner, traveling into one of the other patient's rooms.

"All right, we're clear," Crooked Nose murmured a few moments later, bringing the gurney to a halt and making sure that Squirmy was standing on guard in the right position. He swiftly swiped the blankets off of Prussia and ushered him to move, pushing the gurney to the other end of the room to make it appear more natural in the setting. "There aren't any cameras set up in this room, so we should be okay."

Prussia immediately took inventory of the area, eyes falling on the figure lying still at the head of the room, brown hair splayed over the sheets as they rested. Vigilantly, he took his time in approaching, hesitance growing with each additional step that he completed. His fingers brushed over the Velcro straps restraining the patient in the bed, admiring the raw skin plaguing their wrists from the harsh treatment. He then let his hand hover over the sheets for a minute, debating whether or not it would be safe to pull the obstacle away so that he could get a better look at the person.

In all honesty, he had a pretty good idea of who the test subject was, but refused to indulge the thought before he could be presented with enough hardcore evidence. So, with a flick of his arm, he swept the artifact away and felt his breath catch painfully in his throat, feeling as though he was going to 'die' again.

"Hungary?" he said in a thin whisper as the woman grimaced. Pearls of sweat were gathered on her clammy forehead, breathing labored as she blindly groped around for something to serve as a lifeline.

As gentle as possible, Prussia turned over one of the restrained wrists, glaring at the barcode littering the pale skin which bore only one term, REPRODUCE.

"Hungary, wake up," Prussia insisted, panic growing as his long-time friend and sometimes rival refused to respond to his demands. He shook her shoulder carefully, the action growing in ferocity and strength as the woman continued to lie unresponsive. When he had grown tired, he turned to the doctors, eyes anguished and cold. "What's wrong with her?"

Crooked Nose sighed, taking a seat by the windowsill as he watched the two nations. "She's the only female test subject brought in so far, and well, the bureau wants to…" he trailed, unable to bring himself to speak.

"Wants to what? Answer me, Verdammt!" Prussia snarled, face screwed up in unspoken pain. How had it come down to this?

"They want to know if they can make their own nations, even though others have convinced them it's impossible. Nations are born from a pre-existing landmass after all. You can't just try to impregnate female nations and hope some new land pops up in the middle of the ocean."

Prussia felt searing anger explode through the entirety of his body, and in a trice he had gathered Hungary into his arms by ripping off the restraints, transporting her to the abandoned gurney. "We're taking her with us," he stated without room for protest. "I'd like to know where that Austrian bastard is now, letting her stay in a place like this."

"There was no way any nation outside of the facility could've known…" Crooked Nose tried to reason, following Prussia to the door. "And slow down! We can't be rash about this! We need to have an actual plan."

"We don't have time for a plan! We're going to find West and then bust out of here."

"You won't be any help to her if you get caught in the process of escaping!"

Prussia ran a shaking hand through his hair, willing himself to stay in control of the situation and to not let his emotions get the better of him. Loathe he was to admit it, the damned doctor had a point, and he was going to have to do things sensibly if he wanted to successfully save his fellow nations.

Time to rethink the game-plan.

* * *

Terrible nightmares tormented America's brain as he slept, muscles twitching each time he had another encounter with a gruesome creature or ghost. It wasn't until a particularly frightening sea monster swallowed him up that he finally opened his eyes for the world again, blinking away the drowsiness with all of his might.

England had left shortly after the blood-drawing fiasco, and now America was once again left alone to contemplate his options. He was quickly growing sick of uselessly loafing about, and it was time to piece together all of the helpful hints that England had been dropping during his short visits.

So, he turned to fiercely gaze into the camera watching his every move in the upper-corner of the room, a mischievous smile growing on his face.

If there was one thing that occasionally became a useful asset in warfare, than it was his brash tactics.

He scrambled out of bed and over to the door, unsurprised to find that it was locked from the other side. Steeling himself, he tightened his form and pressed his side against the metal barrier, gathering his energy and will together. Taking a step back for a split second, he then rammed himself against the strong material, concentrating the entirety of his weight on breaking the door open.

All those hamburgers came in handy, so shame on all those who doubted his eating habits.

He then heard the satisfying click of the door's hinge snapping and uselessly tumbling to the ground, along with the remainder of the door. He stepped over the broken nuisance, sprinting down the corridor upon realizing that he had caused quite a bit of commotion. The majority of the staff had jumped to their feet, each rushing to the site to restrain him.

It'd certainly been a while since he'd last had to run for his life, so the exhilaration of the moment was not lost on him. He tore down the hallway, setting off a number of alarm systems as he skidded into a room at the end of the hall, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he was met with some sort of icy flooring.

He furrowed his brows, quickly matching those violet eyes with their owner.

"Russia? What are you doing here?"

A weary head rose to meet his blue-eyed watch, shaking lightly as though trying to assure itself that the nation was not simply an apparition spawned from his own delirium-induced hallucinations.

"H-How?" Russia shuddered, blood feeling as though it were frozen in his veins as he squinted through the blinding light that America had brought in with him by opening the door. "Go; you need to run."

America cocked his head to the side, placing a graciously warm hand on Russia's shoulder. "What are you talking about? What is this place?"

"Go!" Russia ordered without further elaboration, fury escalating in his tone. "If you don't go now, you won't make it out!"

America frowned, wavering in the doorway as he regarded the man with a solemn expression. "You can't expect me to just leave you here."

"Da. Go and come back when it is safe, or I won't be happy," Russia warned, trying to come off as eerie and intimidating though his threats seemed weak and fruitless. "Hurry."

Lingering by the door for another drawn out second, America nodded promisingly, sparing a piercing glance at the nation with whom he'd always had shaky relations with. "Okay, I'll be back. Hang in there while I figure things out."

"I might be here forever until that happens," Russia teased, a sardonic grin on his face as he watched the younger man gently close the door and continue his excursion of the floor.

America inwardly cursed, trying to figure out a place that he might be able to use as a safe haven. He hadn't seen any elevators yet, and he was sure that an ID card would be needed to access one even if he did stumble upon one. Still, there had to be an emergency exit somewhere on this level.

He kept his eyes peeled open, vaguely registering the increasing number of shouts and vulgarities being uttered in the distance as he tried to move stealthily about while planning his next route. And then, just as he thought the corridor of endless white walls would never end, he spotted an exit sign, adrenaline spiking as he zoomed toward it, leaving the cluster of people searching for him behind in the madness.

Honestly, escaping the room had been all-too-easy.

He broke down the locked door leading to freedom, watching the hunk of metal slide down the stairs in defeat as he hopped over it and jogged down to the lower levels of the hospital with every intention of making it to the lobby. However, he was stopped short when he heard a shout from beyond the door leading to one of the other floors.

"No! Don't…want… to go!"

There was no way in the world that he could ever _not_ recognize that voice, but he'd been surprised to hear it nonetheless. After all, he'd only heard that voice shout before on a few rare occasions in the past, and usually that rage was directed solely at him.

He pushed the door open and stepped through, eyes wild as he tried to search for the companion that had stuck with him through thick and thin. He pushed past the two doctors veiling him from the owner of the voice, worry growing as he found the perpetrator at last.

"Mattie!" he breathed in a sigh of relief, tugging the nation up into a reclined position on the gurney. "Are you alright?"

America's twin nation knitted his brows together, cowering away from the probing hands trying to grab at his face and shoulders. "How do you know my name?"

America ceased his inspection of his brother, dropping his hands back down to his sides in confusion. "What do you mean, silly? You know I'm only joking around when I pretend not to notice you. You're my bro, and I'd never—"

"Who are you?" Canada cut him off, lavender eyes blinking at him owlishly.

America brought his hands back to Canada's shoulders, gripping the muscles there harshly. "What do you mean, Mattie? I'm America, remember? It's your brother, Alfred. Mattie, what's going on?"

Canada merely pushed his hands away, a bewildered look on his face. "I don't even know you."

"Of course you do! Snap out of it, Matt! Canada, Canadia, Mattie, Matthew! I'll call you whatever you want just get up and get out of this place with me," America pleaded desperately, tears stinging in his eyes in a way that felt so foreign and strange. "Please. Please, get up! STOP PLAYING AROUND!"

"That's enough!"

America swiveled his head around, barely realizing that he'd been cornered by a team of doctors and nurses before he felt a needle being jabbed into the area around his hip, filling him with a numbing sensation.

"Mattie," he groaned one last time, trying desperately to keep conscious as he gripped the rim of the gurney with one hand and his aching hip with the other. He could gradually feel his thoughts floating away and barely remembered what he had been doing out of his room in the first place, grip loosening on the gurney before he finally felt his knees buckle beneath him.

And then, it was nothing but darkness again.

* * *

"Excuse me? Do you have any idea who you're talking to?"

"It seems to be the only option left to pursue since you've been doing a rather poor job with your role. The bureau has unanimously agreed to exempt you from your position. You'll be taken in for testing as soon as possible."

England scowled his famous scowl, his intimidating stature from his days as a pirate quickly returning to him. "You'll put America in a medically-induced coma over my dead body. I don't give a damn what you think is a 'last resort'. I did what I said I would do, and it isn't my fault that the git is so bloody stubborn. Did you really think he'd listen to me?"

"Then you understand the position that you've left us in," the bureau official sneered. "Now, you can show yourself to your designated room or we'll have security escort you there. It's your choice."

England grinded his teeth and turned away, stalking out of the room without another word. He made his way for the elevators in his walk of defeat, stopping momentarily to register that some sort of new patient was being strolled in through the entrance doors of the hospital. He narrowed his eyes and watched closely, concealing himself around a pillar as he eavesdropped for information on the new test subject.

"Took a while to get our hands on this one, huh?" one of the medical staff members muttered to his accomplice, peering down at the patient. "One of the only little rascals we could find for testing. Turns out there aren't many child nations around these days."

A child?

England brought a hand to his face in despair, questioning the inhumanity of the entire predicament as he rubbed away the tension in his forehead.

But it wasn't until his eyes laid upon the actual test subject themselves before he felt his heart sink to his stomach in disbelief. That shaggy head of blonde hair accompanied by childish features could belong to no other nation than the one he had never thought to worry about protecting.

Sealand.

How in the world had they managed to find him? He wasn't even fully recognized as a nation, so for what purpose had he been brought in? Had the bureau really stooped so low as to experiment on child nations to see if they could hone their powers for their own selfish interests?

Well, he certainly wasn't going to stand for this any longer. He needed to come up with a way to stop this madness, and his time was limited. For all he knew, America could already be moments away from being drugged into a coma, and there was no way of telling what would be done with Sealand.

He sighed heavily, making his way for the stairs again and heading into the basement this time, gears in his head shifting in overtime as he tried to think things through carefully. He was going to have to be quick and precise because he was only going to get one shot at doing this right, which meant there was no room for even the slightest mistake. He knew he wouldn't be able to save all of the nations at once, but if he could just give a select few an opportunity to retreat, then they could contact others for help.

Setting his sights on his targets, he found a spare flashlight on an old crate and took it with him before searching for a good weapon to destroy the hospital's backup generator. If he could accomplish that, he'd be able to make sure that the fuse-box met the same fate.

It was all or nothing now.

* * *

"You can't go up with the personification of Hungary to the superpowers' floor. The guards will stop you before you even make it close to your brother," Crooked Nose cautioned, stepping in front of Prussia once they had reached the elevators. "I'll bring her to a less notorious floor and keep her safe there until you finish your search."

Prussia nodded, deciding that it really was for the best. He watched as Crooked Nose scanned his identification card and hailed an elevator for them. Then, he and his two partners in crime shuffled inside with the gurney in between them, awkwardly bearing the span of silence in immense anticipation.

And then, a long buzzing noise droned to life in the cramped space, startling each of them as they tried to decipher the source. Then, as Squirmy made a move to hit the button to open the doors, the light in the elevator diminished, and all went completely dark as though someone had blown out a candle.

"Scheiße," Prussia cursed, waving a hand around to feel for the walls of the elevator. "What now?"

The elevator gave a loud groan and began falling to the lowest level, sending the trio reeling backward as they finally made contact with the ground. Other than being a little startled, they all seemed to be uninjured, counting their lucky stars when the door disengaged and opened to the ground floor.

"I forgot the elevators run on a separate battery pack," Squirmy noted as they filed out of the deathtrap and onto safe ground once more. "The elevator drops and the doors open in case of emergency."

Prussia heaved a nervous breath, squinting through the darkness as he tried to make out any familiar objects. "What about Hungary?"

"She's fine," Crooked Nose reassured, motioning to the labored breathing movements that continued to cycle through the woman's figure. "Well, she's unharmed from the incident at least."

"Good, why is the power out though?"

Squirmy shrugged his shoulders, tightening his lab-coat around himself. "Beats me, but you can make a run for it now if you'd like. No one is going to stop you amidst all the chaos that's taking place on the upper floors."

"Nein. I can't leave West behind," Prussia declined sternly, face taut. "He would do the same for me. Get Hungary out while I finish what I need to do here. One of you has to go with her and make sure she's okay. Squirmy, you go. Don't fuck up."

The impish doctor nodded reluctantly, taking hold of the gurney and prying open the entrance doors before making his way out with the female nation into the night.

"What's in the surrounding area of the hospital?" Prussia wondered, suddenly realizing that the question held great importance.

Crooked Nose turned to face the doors leading to the outside with a troubled look on his face that Prussia could just make out. "It's nothing but wilderness for miles. There are a few little towns and villages scattered around, but we're in a pretty remote area. Don't worry though, my colleague knows the terrain well and will find a place to keep your friend safe."

"He better," Prussia grumbled unhappily. "So, what are we going to do next? Where's the nearest staircase?"

"Follow me."

* * *

Why was it so damned dark?

He hated the dark.

America rubbed at his jaw, a mysterious toothache suddenly grabbing his immediate attention as he searched for the slightest source of light. He rolled off of his cot, hitting the floor ungracefully with a moan of pain before dusting himself off and stumbling toward what he hoped was the general direction of the door.

Poking at his face, he realized that his glasses had disappeared, though he doubted they would've done him any good anyway. Nonetheless, he continued to traverse the room slower than molasses, momentarily panicking that he might have gone blind during his slumber.

Surely it was possible? It happened all the time! People went to sleep and woke up the next morning without their sight, not realizing how much they should've appreciated their vision while they'd still had it. There were freak accidents all the time, and now he had fallen victim to one. How was he going to tell the other nations? Could he play it off without them finding out?

He assured himself to play it cool, and maybe his vision would return to him at some point.

However, this 'cool' he had tried to muster immediately eluded him as a hand came down on his shoulder, sending him reeling and shouting bloody murder until the hand muffled his hysterical outcries.

"Calm down! It's just me, you git."

Pulling his face away from the cold appendage, America felt his heart skip a beat. "England? England, I'm blind! I can't see! It's all darkness! Oh my God, England!"

England growled, grabbing America by the shoulders once more and shaking him as roughly as he could manage. "Could you calm down? You aren't blind, you idiot! I just cut the power."

"What?" America whispered (a rarity for him), eyes barely making out England's face in the darkness. "Why'd you do that? Wait… Y-You're one of them, aren't you? That's why you're not undergoing testing! I saw Russia and Can—" he stopped himself, unable to go any further before he wrenched himself out of England's hold and stumbled backward into the room, colliding with the railing of his bed. "How could you? I've seen what they've been doing in this place," he went on, mind finally focusing on what he had experienced before he'd mysteriously ended up in bed again.

England sighed, frustrated at having to waste precious time. "America, you've only got half of the story. I need you to get out of here and take—"

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on here!" America proclaimed adamantly, gluing his feet to the ground stubbornly. "Why should I trust you when you've been helping these weird doctors keep us nations locked in here?"

England frowned, hurt by America's accusations as he tried to locate those blue eyes through the swelling blackness. The nerve of him! He'd gone through hell and back to try to come up with a way to get them out of this mess. "Maybe because I raised you and I wouldn't ever want to cause you harm. Surely you know that, America?"

"They could've brainwashed you, for all I know."

"America, please, listen to me. You know I would never—" he grimaced, a gnawing disparity growing in his chest. "They have Sealand—he's just a child!"

America glowered, brows furrowed as he tried to discern whether or not the tone of England's voice was sincere. Surrendering, he sighed in a grieving way that England hadn't heard the man produce in quite some time. "Where is he?"

"I don't know. He's just recently been admitted so he can't have even been transferred to a permanent floor yet. He could be anywhere. Regardless, you need to get out of here. The staff members are still trying to make sense of the situation, and you should be able to fight off anyone who tries to stop you from escaping rather easily now. Get out and find help," England instructed firmly, finding America's figure and shoving him forward relentlessly.

America shook his head, wincing at the pain in his jaw. "No, I'm going to stay here and make sure everyone gets out safely."

"For once in your life, don't try and be the bloody hero. They plan to put you in a medically induced coma, America, so that they could have full control over your body and see how it affects the landmass of your country. That's why you need to get out, and don't make me say it again!" England insisted once more, helplessly hitting and pushing America to get him to budge from his immobile state.

"No," America declared without preamble. "You go and find Sealand. Don't worry about me; I can't take care of myself."

"No, you can't, America, you think you're capable but you're not!" England backfired habitually, realizing what he'd said only after the words had left his mouth.

America hummed in an amused manner, suddenly very serious in a way that frightened England to no end. "Funny, that's what you said to me during the revolution."

England swallowed around the lump in his throat, uselessly setting America free from his grasp. The man had proved his point. "I know. Go then, you big brute, so you can prove me wrong once more, but don't you dare disappoint me."

"Disappointing you is my job, old man," America joked humorlessly, successfully finding the exit and turning the corner without further comment.

"Damn him," Arthur swore before setting off in the opposite direction.

Why did he always have to worry about that daft fool?


End file.
